


You Are The Risk I'll Always Take

by ArgylePirateWD



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Future Fic, Marriage Proposal, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-19 04:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7345747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgylePirateWD/pseuds/ArgylePirateWD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>When Jo stopped by her sister's apartment, one of the first things out of Theresa's mouth was, "So, when are you and Henry gonna tie the knot?"</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are The Risk I'll Always Take

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sandyk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandyk/gifts).



> Huge thanks to R for the beta—you're made of awesome. ♥
> 
> Title from Ellie Goulding's "I'll Hold My Breath"

When Jo stopped by her sister's apartment, one of the first things out of Theresa's mouth was, "So, when are you and Henry gonna tie the knot?"

Jo abruptly glanced up from the baby in Theresa's arms, eyebrows raised. "Wow, not beating around the bush, are we?"

"Nope."

Clutching the casserole dish that she'd brought, Jo dodged the many stray toys on the floor as she crossed the short distance to the kitchen, Theresa close behind. She found a small home for Abe's lasagna on the kitchen table, amid the piles of mail, towering stacks of Theresa's husband Ryan's textbooks, and scattered baby supplies. Carefully, she nudged the clutter aside and set down the heavy pan, then turned to her sister again.

"You've been talking to  _Mamá_  a lot, haven't you." It wasn't a question.

Theresa rolled her eyes. "Like she's the only one wondering," she said. "Come on, Jo—you two've been together, what, two, three years?" To baby Santiago, she said, "Say hi to Auntie Jo-Jo," and held him out to Jo.

"Two." Jo took the baby into her arms—and, wow, he'd gotten a lot heavier since the last time she'd seen him. She grinned at him and said, "Hi, baby. Hi! Look at you—you're getting so big!" in a cheery, high-pitched voice.

Santiago stared at her, his brown eyes wide and curious. Then, his mouth broke into a gummy smile, and he let out a happy cry and batted his tiny hands at her. She melted. Such a sweet boy. Her heart swelling with affection, Jo kissed the top of his hairy little head, and took a moment to breathe in his milk and baby powder scent.

"And Henry still hasn't asked you to marry him yet?"

Jo groaned, then cooed, "Your mommy's kind of silly, isn't she?" at her nephew, ignoring Theresa's irritated look. He burbled like he was amused.

She'd known that the questions were coming. Now that Santiago was several months old and Camila's third birthday was long over, _Mamá's_  attention had wandered from Theresa and the kids to Jo and Henry. She'd had this conversation with  _Mamá_  countless times, almost verbatim. Theresa was cut from the same cloth. If Jo didn't know better, she'd think they had a script.

Right on cue, Theresa said, "You're practically married already," as she bustled around the cramped kitchen, going after plates and silverware. "Why not make it official?"

"Because we like the way things are now?" Jo said. "Because we're happy?"

And she'd had more than enough trouble getting there to begin with. Four years since she and Henry had met, two years of dating, and she still felt like she'd barely breached the surface of Henry's many defenses. She didn't doubt for a second that he loved her with his whole heart, deeply and fiercely, but he was always hesitant to take new steps—no, not hesitant. Scared.

"I don't think he's gonna propose anytime soon anyway," Jo added.

"Then maybe you should ask him."

Jo stared at Theresa in disbelief. "I'm sorry: What?"

Theresa shrugged a shoulder. "Two years," she said, dishing the cold lasagna out on the plain white plates. "You love the guy, don't you? And he loves you. So why not?" She put one plate into the microwave and got it going. "Maybe it's time to take matters into your own hands and go, 'Hey, marry me already, asshole.'"

"I—" Santiago chose that moment to grab a handful of Jo's hair. She let out an awkward laugh and tugged her hair free, and she shifted the squirming baby in her arms. "I-I don't know. It sounds kind of weird? And he's really traditional—"

"Screw tradition."

"—and I don't know if he'd go for it, and I don't know if he's ready to get married again, or if  _I'm_  ready..." She gave Theresa a miserable look. "I just...there are a lot of reasons why not. A  _lot_  of reasons."

"And even more reasons why it's a good idea."

" _One_  reason," Jo said. "Because you and  _Mamá_  think it's a good idea."

Theresa and their mother didn't know Henry the way Jo did, and no amount of,  _He's not like other guys,_  would ever convince them otherwise. They knew he was a widower, but that barely scratched the surface of his pain. Part of Jo wanted to shake her sister and say,  _He's been hurt,_  or,  _He knows what I've been going through because he's been there too_. She didn't.

The microwave beeped, and Jo jumped. She'd gotten too used to living without one. Then, she took advantage of the distraction to change the tone. "And what do you even propose to a guy with, anyway?"

"A watch?" Theresa suggested, taking the warm food out of the microwave. Steam wafted from the piece of hot lasagna, filling the kitchen with the aromas of herbs, tomato, and meat. Theresa closed her eyes and inhaled, and Jo was tempted to do the same. "Baseball tickets, basketball tickets, football tickets?"

Jo shook her head at all of them. "He has his pocket watch, and he doesn't care about sports. He likes antiques, medical stuff, high-end booze—fancy stuff I can't afford." And he usually preferred gifts that weren't material possessions. He liked relationships and experiences more than things.

"Hm," Theresa said, pursing her lips, and put the other plate in the microwave. "Then...I don't know. Just get him a ring or something. Or just ask him—seriously. Most guys won't care."

"Yeah, well, most guys aren't Henry Morgan," Jo retorted. "He's an unusual person."

"Still a person," Theresa said. "Still a guy."

Jo ground her teeth. Just like  _Mamá_ , Theresa had a rebuttal for all of Jo's protests. Knowing her words were in vain, Jo said, sounding defeated, "I just don't think it's a good idea."

"That's because it's a great idea." Theresa gave her a sad smile, then reached out and laid a hand high on Jo's arm. "Oh, Jo-Jo," she said, in a gentle voice. "You know what  _Mamá_  would ask you: 'What does your heart say?'"

"Yeah, and then  _Mamá_  would also ask, 'Josefina, when are you and Henry finally going to make me an  _abuelita?_ '"

Theresa giggled. "Yeah, that sounds like  _Mamá_ ," she said. "Not gonna stop 'til you have another ring on your finger and a baby on the way."

"If even then," Jo said, with a small grin.

When the laughing died down, Theresa's expression became sympathetic again. "You know I'm not trying to be an ass, right? I just want to see my big sis happy again, you know?" Lightly, she squeezed Jo's arm. "Just give it a shot, okay? You guys aren't getting any younger. And trust me—it's all worth it."

As though trying to emphasize his mother's point, Santiago began to cry. Jo handed him back.

* * *

That evening, Jo tried to push the idea of proposing out of her mind. She  _liked_  her life with Henry. For the first time in years, she was comfortable, stable, peaceful. Being with Henry felt  _right_.

When she lost Sean, she'd thought she'd never fill the gaping hole his absence left behind—and she hadn't. Her heart still missed him. And Henry understood. He knew how it felt to be wounded inside, knew how much the scars of loss ached long after, understood that they might never stop hurting.

With him, she'd found a new home for her heart—one built by a strange, vulnerable, wonderful man who'd become her lover. He didn't brush off her grief when it broke through their happiness. Instead, he'd tell her, _"You're not alone,"_  and,  _"I know how important he still is to you,"_  as he held her in his arms.  _"He'd want you to be happy."_

 _"I am,"_  she'd insist, and she was. Henry was more than a boyfriend—he was her closest friend, her  _partner_. He'd been so difficult to get to know, but her patience with him had more than paid off. Difficult to know, but easy to love.

Could she see herself spending the rest of her life with Henry? That was the question. As she snuggled up next to him in bed, listening more to the cadence of his words than his description of the opera he'd seen with Abe, she tried to picture their future. Could she see herself waking up with him in his too-soft bed each day, with his legs tangled with hers, his nose buried in her hair, his palm warm and comforting against her stomach?

 _"Good morning, darling,"_  he'd murmur, his hands seeking the nearest bare patch of her skin they could find, like they did now. He never seemed to tire of touching her—would he get sick of it someday? Would he always want to hold her in bed each night?

Would she always be willing to wrap a dry towel around his wet shoulders after another death, or comfort him after another nightmare? She hoped so. He had such a good heart, one that deserved plenty of love and care, that kindled a fierce need in her gut to protect it. Would she always want to hold it close, always want to try to shield it from harm?

As she imagined a future with him, the answers to her questions solidified in her mind: Yes, yes, yes. She saw herself sharing countless meals with him, walking side by side with him each day, getting old next to this man who never aged. Carrying his child someday soon, maybe, her belly growing huge and round with their unborn son or daughter. Marrying him, if she got the chance.

She'd never tire of uncovering the many mysteries of Henry Morgan. He'd love her until she drew her last breath, and long after.

It scared the hell out of her.

But Jo rarely met a fear she wouldn't face. "Do you think you'll ever get married again?" she asked, during a lull in the conversation.

Henry stiffened, but kept running his fingers down the length of her arm, leaving goosebumps behind with his touch. Jo tried to focus on that, instead of his lengthy silence and the butterflies in her stomach, and she gnawed on her bottom lip as she waited. It wasn't a simple question, she reminded herself. He needed some time to think.

That didn't stop her from wishing he'd hurry up and answer.

After what felt like forever, Henry finally spoke. "I...am not sure." Jo's stomach dropped, and, as though sensing her dissatisfaction, he kissed her temple. "Which is not to say I haven't considered the idea before—I have. But..."

"It's complicated."

"Exactly." He held her tighter. "I love you," he said, against her cheek. "Dearly, dearly love you. But marriage...well. I don't know."

In a whisper, he added, "I'm sorry."

"No," she said, trying to tamp down her disappointment. "I get it. We've both lost the people we said we'd love ''til death do us part'—you more than once. And just thinking about getting married again..."

"Is hard," he quietly said, sounding like the thought was difficult to admit. "Which...Jo, if you want to go find—"

"Don't even," she said, turning around, and she leveled a gentle glare at him. "If I wanted easy, I would've left already. If you need to wait, we can wait, and if you don't want to do it ever, then that's okay with me, too."

She laid a hand on his bare chest. "Hey, Henry?" she said. "We're a team. We both know what we mean to each other. You're crazy in love with me, and I love you, and whether we're married or not? That doesn't change. So we can wait, or we can just not do it. Okay?"

Henry exhaled, and smiled. "Thank you," he said, and pulled her into a kiss.

* * *

Henry's _"I don't know,"_  didn't keep Jo from turning the idea of marrying Henry over and over again in her head for the next few weeks. Much as she hated to admit it, her sister did have a point: She and Henry  _were_  practically married already. They lived together, worked together, loved together. They were a team. And Abe had declared her an honorary member of the Morgan family long ago.

A marriage to Henry wouldn't exactly be legal—little about Henry's identity was. But no one would know that but them. To everyone else, it would be official, a binding declaration of their partnership and love. Making that declaration seemed like the next logical step.

Was it the right step?

"I don't need a ring on my finger to know I'm in this long-term," she told Theresa on the phone, as she paced around the rooftop of the shop.

"But you  _want_  it, right?"

Jo didn't answer directly. "Henry and I are committed to making this work," she said. "And we're happy— _I'm_  happy. I didn't think I could feel like this about someone again, but I do, and it's great, and I just...I'm not sure what I want."

Theresa was quiet for a moment, and the faint sounds of Santiago burbling and Camila playing with some musical toy trickled through the phone.

"I think you are," Theresa said, her voice soft. "I think you know exactly what you want—what your heart wants. I know you. You would've shut me down already if you really hated the idea."

She would have, wouldn't she? Jo sat down at the table with a groan, and she propped her feet up and watched the sunset sky overhead, burrowing deep into her oversized sweatshirt against the early autumn chill. "I don't know what I'm doing."

When Sean had planned to propose, it had been obvious. He was great at keeping secrets in his professional life, but he'd always been terrible at hiding personal things from Jo. His endearingly sloppy attempts at subterfuge and his ceaseless dopey grins gave him away, and she'd known exactly what he was going to do when he took her out that evening. All she had to do was say yes.

"Does anyone?" Theresa asked, responding to Jo's admission. "Treat it like, I don't know, one of your cases—gather the evidence that he's down for that kind of commitment but too chicken to ask, ask around for a little more info, figure out how you're gonna 'arrest' him, and then get that ring on his finger."

When Jo didn't reply immediately, Theresa said, "Jo, what do you want? Not me, not _Mamá_ , not Henry—what do _you_ want?"

What _did_ she want? She wanted to reinforce what she already knew: That they were a unit, and were determined to stay that way until the end. That she  _wanted_  to be with Henry, had  _chosen_  to be with him and his heart, his fears, his flaws. That she trusted him with her heart, and that he could trust her with his.

"I think I want to marry him."

Theresa whooped loudly, and in the background, her daughter let out a delighted scream and her son began to cry. Jo winced and held her phone away from her ear.

"Calm down!" Jo said, amused. "Sis, calm—hey, Theresa, calm down!"

"I'm  _trying_ ," Theresa said, with a giggle, then made half-hearted shushing noises, presumably to calm the baby. It didn't work. "I'm just so happy for you!"

"I haven't even done anything yet," Jo said, trying to talk over her sister and the kids. "I'm still not—T, stop squealing for a sec—I haven't really decided what I'm gonna do yet, okay?"

"Okay," Theresa said, and Jo could hear the smile in her voice. "Okay. But I'm happy for you. You love someone so much you want to marry him. After what happened to Sean...all I wanted was my big sister to be happy again, and you  _are._ "

 _I really am_ , Jo thought.

Theresa excused herself to quiet the kids down, and once she came back to the phone, she said, "So, when do you think you'll ask him?"

"I said I don't know what I'm gonna do yet!" Jo laughed. "There's some stuff I need to do before I decide to do anything. And, hey—don't mention this to  _Mamá_  until I've figured out what I'm gonna do. Please?"

"I won't, I won't," Theresa said.

"Tell her we've decided to wait, if you tell her anything."

"You got it," Theresa said. "I'll keep my lips zipped, pinkie swear."

* * *

Treat the proposal like a case. Right. Gather evidence, interview "witnesses" and "suspects," not necessarily in that order. Get the extra input she needed.

Jo went over people she and Henry both knew. Abe was the undisputed Henry Morgan expert, an obvious choice. Mike knew her better than Henry, but he usually gave good, straight-forward advice and had been married a while. Lieutenant Reece was a solid  _maybe_ , depending on how much she got out of Mike and Abe. Lucas—no. She ruled him out immediately. He was a great kid, and he thought the world of Henry, but he sucked at relationship stuff.

She went with Mike first, while they were on their way to apprehend a suspect. "Hey," she said, "can I ask you something?"

"Mm-hm," Mike replied, and swallowed his mouthful of coffee. "Shoot."

"Okay." She took a deep breath and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, then decided to go ahead and rip the Band-Aid off and ask, "What if Karen had asked you to marry her, and not the other way around? What would you have done?"

"Like she wasn't the one who asked," Mike said, with a snort. "Said it was  _way_  past time I made an honest woman out of her, and told me I'd damn well better get to proposing to her already. Then she, well..." He cleared his throat. "Made a  _really convincing argument_ , if you know what I mean—"

"Too much information!" Jo wrinkled her nose.

"—and then I went out and started looking at rings the next day. Why?" Mike narrowed his eyes, and studied her face for a moment. "Are you thinking of maybe popping the question or something?"

"I don't know," she replied. "Maybe? But I thought I'd better get some opinions from some guys first." Grimacing, she added, "Is it a bad idea?"

"With Henry?" Mike said. "The hell if I know. He's what my grandma would've called an 'odd duck' back in the day. I know you love him and all, and he is a good guy, but you've gotta admit, Henry Morgan is a wild card. Who knows what's goin' on in that brain of his?"

After a pause, Mike added, "There's one thing I can tell you, though: He's crazy about you. I mean it, Jo, Henry's got it bad. Real bad. You get down on one knee, and I bet you anything he's gonna say 'yes' before you can say a word."

Jo wasn't so sure, so when she went to Abe, she said, "I just...is this a good idea?" as she wrapped her cool hands around her mug of his homemade hot chocolate. "I mean, Henry's...Henry."

"Which is exactly why it's a  _great_  idea." Abe punctuated his point with a jab of a broken sugar cookie in her direction. "Time's a little weird for him. If you don't ask him, who knows how long you're gonna be waiting for him to get up the nerve to ask you? Could be a month, could be a year, could be when you're 98 and lying on your deathbed. So it's probably gonna be up to you."

"And he's not planning anything?"

"You know how long it took him to propose to my mom?" Abe ate a bite of cookie. "Too long. And he still wondered if it was a rash decision." Rolling his eyes, Abe went on, saying, "Smart man, my pops, but let's be honest—he can be dumb as a rock sometimes. Especially when it comes to stuff involving feelings. He always needs someone to shock him out of his stagnant little comfort zone. Which is one of the many reasons you're so good for him. You do that. He needs it. It works.

"He won't mind if you do the asking, instead of him—heck, he'll probably be relieved." Abe chuckled. "I mean, my ex-wife proposed our second time around, and the only problem Henry had with that was Maureen. If she hadn't shot me the first time we were married, I think it would've been alright."

" _What?_ " Jo's eyes went wide, and her mouth fell open. "She...shot you?" Jo shook her head in disbelief. "And you married her again?"

"She didn't know the gun was loaded!" Abe insisted. It sounded like an old argument. "She just kind of wanted to"—He shifted uncomfortably in his seat—"scare me a little, not kill me. I think. And, hey, we're talking about you and Henry, not me and Maureen."

"Yeah, but..." Abe leveled an annoyed look at her, and she sighed. "Right. Not what we were talking about. Sorry. It's a cop thing—I hear about a crime, and I...anyway." Going back to the subject, she said, "So, hypothetically, if I proposed to Henry, would he say yes?"

Abe considered the question for a moment. "Yeah, probably. He loves you, and he trusts you enough that he lets you see the real him. That's  _huge_ for him. And I haven't seen him this happy with anyone since Mom. He'd do anything for you, Jo. All you have to do is ask."

Another part of her relaxed. Abe knew Henry, and likely understood Henry better than Henry understood himself. If Abe said something about Henry, it was probably right.

"And if you want help looking for rings or anything," Abe said, "I happen to have a few connections in that area. I can help you find something somewhere."

"You sure?"

"Of course!" Abe said. "We both want Henry to be happy, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen. And whatever it takes to ensure there's someone around who cares about him when I'm gone."

Jo felt a pang in her chest. That day would come long before anyone wanted it to. Abe was still young at heart, but not in body. Nothing could change that. "Abe, I—"

He waved off her concern. "Eh, I've accepted my mortality," he said. "I don't want it to be my time to go anytime soon, of course, but I've seen the alternative and what it does to people if they're not careful—and sometimes even if they are. One thing having an immortal dad teaches you is just how overrated immortality is. So when I go, I go.

"I just want someone there who'll remind him how good love is and how good life is," he continued, "and I think you'll do that. You're good people. Married or not, you'll be there for him when I'm not able to."

"I hope so," she said. "It's a big responsibility."

"Tough girl like you?" Abe said. "You're up for the challenge. And my dad's worth it, I promise. Kind of a pain in the you-know-what, sure, but he's the best man you'll ever meet, and he'll be there for you 'til the day you die—I guarantee it."

* * *

Unsurprisingly, telling Theresa,  _"We've decided to wait,"_  didn't hold off her family for long. Soon after, her brother Hector began scouring YouTube for obnoxious renditions of the Wedding March to fill up her voicemail. Theresa flooded her email with links to articles about proposals and weddings, and even got her daughter Camila to ask about being a flower girl in her halting three-year-old's tongue. Her  _Mamá_ —oh, hell. Her mother was the freaking ringleader of the whole damn Get Jo and Henry Married campaign.

"You've been around a long time," Jo said, rubbing her aching head. "How do I stop them?"

"I've no idea." Henry handed her a steaming cup of fragrant herbal tea, then began massaging her shoulders, digging his fingers deep into the tight muscles. She moaned—oh, that felt amazing. "Some modern families are more persistent about marriage than others, I've found."

"And it doesn't bother you?" She sipped her tea, and though she wasn't a fan of its taste, the warmth and the mix of chamomile, lavender, and mint—herbs Henry claimed "promote relaxation"—did soothe a little bit of her irritation. Or maybe Henry's steady presence at her back did that.

"It means they care about you," he said. "They don't want you to have your heart broken by some scoundrel who may not be there for you for the rest of your life. They want to see you cherished and cared for, and treated like the treasure you are—a noble desire, and one I wholeheartedly agree on."

He brushed her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck. "They have nothing to worry about," he continued, "but worry they will, no matter how many times I assure you I'll stay. It's what families do, and it's  _especially_  what parents do. We never stop worrying about our children's happiness, no matter how old they are."

Her phone began buzzing with a new call. "And there's no way I can make them stop worrying?"

"I'm afraid not. I'm sorry." Henry chuckled. "Now, on a different note, I must admit that I am enjoying my lack of one of these wretched mobile telephones now more than ever."

Jo shot him a glare over her shoulder. "I hate you."

Looking smug as hell, Henry said, "You do not."

She grabbed her phone, and she groaned. _Mamá_ , again. Of course. Readying herself for yet another round of interrogation, Jo took a bracing gulp of her questionably-calming tea, and she answered.

After the greetings were out of the way and  _Mamá_  had updated her on the goings-on of nearly everyone else in the family, the focus shifted to Jo's empty left hand. Henry perked up at the sound of his name, and moved close enough to eavesdrop.

Even though Jo's face burned with amused embarrassment, the fond look in Henry's eyes as he watched her face convinced her to let him listen. _Mamá_  said something particularly colorful about him, and Henry covered his mouth and ducked away for a quiet laugh. Jo grinned at him, and she took his hand and interlaced their fingers.

Henry straightened himself up and mouthed,  _I love you_ , before bringing Jo's hand to his lips.

The realization,  _Yeah, I really want to marry him_ , came to her with perfect clarity. It felt right—wanting him, asking him, taking the risk.

She was ready.

* * *

Enlisting Abe's help was easy. She went to him and said, "I'm gonna ask him," and Abe's face lit up. He pulled her into a crushing hug, congratulating her.

"I would say, 'Welcome to the family,'" he said, "but far as I'm concerned, you're already in it."

Soon, they found a ring Abe thought Henry would like—a carved gold band with a round diamond in the center, bought from another antiques store. It was far less expensive than Jo expected, and she suspected Abe's "special discount" from the seller meant he'd be going back and paying the rest of the cost later. But the balance between complexity and simplicity would suit Henry perfectly, and she had no proof of Abe's deception anyway, so she pretended she had no idea.

With the ring on-hand, reality sank in deeper. She was going to propose to Henry. Whenever she had a moment to spare, she turned the idea over in her head—the proposal, the wedding, the marriage. Henry wasn't lying when he said he was a difficult man to know. He'd be a good husband, a _great_  husband. That didn't make it much easier to help him cope with some of the crap his past threw at him.

Would he ever stop being so wary? Jo doubted he would. But every day, he got better at letting her in, and at helping her understand why he sometimes couldn't. Since they'd met, he'd more than proven that he was worth knowing, that he was worth the difficulty. He was good for her. Was she good for him? She hoped so.

Still, as she wrote and rewrote what she planned to say when she proposed, she worried about what would come next. Was she up to the challenge of staying with Henry for the rest of her life? A solid marriage was a joint effort. Knowing Abe had faith in her helped. And Henry loved her.

"Just give it your best shot," she told herself. Really, that was all she could do: try to be the best wife—the best  _partner_ —she could be.

She spent over a week editing her speech again and again, until she realized she was just repeating herself in different ways. It never would be perfect—she wasn't much of a writer, had nearly bombed the public speaking class she'd taken in night school for a reason. Actions were her thing, not pretty words; if anyone in the relationship could be a writer, it was Henry. All she was doing was delaying the inevitable.

Time to do it.

Her nerves a wreck, she texted her sister,  _going for it!_  and turned off her phone. It was a Friday night. Her rare weekend off would give her some time to lick her wounds if things went south.

She stopped in the kitchen to ask Abe if Henry was home, and when he told her Henry was in his lab, she announced her plans.

She'd never seen Abe's grin get that big before.

"Don't worry about a thing," he said. "I've got champagne if it goes well, and a whole liquor cabinet if he decides to be an idiot, okay?" When she nodded, Abe squeezed her shoulder. "Hey, it's gonna be all right. I think he's ready for this, too."

"I hope you're right." She took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled, and gave Abe a smile that felt more like a wince. "I'm a little nervous."

"Just remember: He's more afraid than you are. But you'll do fine." Abe patted her back. "I'm rooting for you—we all are."

With that, she went to talk to Henry.

* * *

The stairs to Henry's lab seemed to go on forever. With every step, Jo's feet grew heavier, her heartbeat louder. She repeated her speech to herself, forcing her thoughts to move through the roil of nerves in her brain, and reminded herself to  _breathe, dammit, breathe_.

Halfway down, she realized her pockets were empty, and she swore quietly. She'd forgotten the ring. But going back to get it was too daunting. If she turned around, she feared she'd lose her nerve. So she kept going, cursing her own ridiculousness along the way.

 _Martinez, you can do this,_ she told herself. _It's not a good idea—it's a **great** _idea.__

At the table, Henry traced a finger over the framed picture of Jo he kept beside Abigail's, his eyes so full of love that Jo's carefully-planned speech vanished from her memory. Then, he went back to poring over one of his journals, his face neutral as he read the words on the page. But he must have heard her. He glanced over at her with a breathtaking smile, before turning his attention to his journal again.

"I'm almost finished reviewing my notes," he said, distracted. "I'll be upstairs in a moment."

"Henry." The name came out rough and shaky.

He whipped his head around to look at her, his brow wrinkling with worry, and he got to his feet and hurried to her side. "Is everything all right?"

Unable to find her words, she sank down on one knee. The floor was cold, and hard like the knots in her stomach. She ignored it, and made herself look up at Henry.

"What are you doing?" he whispered, his eyes huge. "Jo..."

"I..." she let out an awkward laugh, and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I think you know. You know what this means. Right?"

"Yes, but..." His mouth opened and closed, like he didn't know what to say, either, then he shook his head slightly. "I suspected this was coming, but...why? Why  _me?_ "

"Because..." Her tangled insides twisted into bigger, tighter knots. "Okay, I kind of had this planned out a little better?" she said, around the lump in her throat. "With a speech and everything? It wasn't much of a speech, but it was a speech, and I-I don't remember what I was going to say.

"You are way,  _way_  better at the big gesture thing than I am—like, I didn't even know what to get you, so I just got you a ring, but I left it upstairs, and I'm sorry. I..." Her eyes began to blur with tears. She blinked them back, and sniffled.

Gently, he shushed her, and he crouched in front of her and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. "When you're ready," he said, and dabbed at her eyes with the softest of touches, "I'm listening."

Jo nodded and thanked him, and tried to swallow the ache constricting her throat.

"Take your time, my love," he said.

She let out a tiny laugh. "This is turning into the worst proposal ever."

"Not possible," Henry said. "Not when it's coming from you."

Her heart clenched. He was so effortlessly sweet sometimes, a hopeless romantic and a total sap. But he was so much more.

"You drive me crazy," she said. "You scare me. You are so weird, so unusual, so creepy, and you drive me absolutely nuts, but..."

She needed another deep breath. "But you make me happy—so,  _so_  happy. Because you're you. You may be weird, but you're also great, and when I met you, I really needed that.

"When I lost Sean, I thought I'd never feel happy again—I thought I'd never feel  _anything_  again—and I was damn sure I'd never fall in love with anyone else. It was like my heart gave out too. You know what that's like, to feel like something, like, yanked the rug out from under your heart, and you don't know how to fix it back up again."

"Yes," he said. "That I do know."

"Right. And then you came along, and you helped me figure it out, with all your-your weirdness and wisdom and sweetness and"—She waved a hand—"all kinds of other stuff."

"And you helped me," Henry said, getting down on his knees. "Around when we met—I think it was the same day, actually—Abe said to me, 'You may not be able to die, but you haven't  _lived_  in a very long time.' And he was right."

He took her trembling hands in his. "I never would've guessed that someone who once thought me a mass murderer would come to mean so much to me."

Jo laughed. "And I never thought I'd love a guy I accused of being a mass murderer. Or who lit my hand on fire, or told me to crash my car..."

Even though Henry was harmless, he was still something else—and so was she. "We are two screwed-up people," she said, giving him a fond smile. "Really, _really_ screwed-up. And I'm not sure if we're less screwed-up together, or more screwed-up, but you make me happy, and I love you so,  _so_ much. And I'd really like to spend the rest of my life with you, if you want.

"So...yeah," she said, her voice hoarse. "Yeah. I want this. My heart wants this. My heart wants _you_." She swallowed. "So, Henry Morgan: Will you marry me?"

He stared at her, silent, and she couldn't tell if she was holding her breath or if she couldn't breathe. She keenly felt every churn of her stomach, every beat of her heart, every squeeze of her throat and her chest. Henry was never this quiet; he had an opinion on everything, a response to every question she could ask. Could she even hear him if he said something, if he spoke over the pounding in her ears and the traffic outside and the whisper of her clothes on her skin? Why wasn't he talking?

She tried to say his name, but it refused come out, her voice too busy listening for his answer. Her nerves stood on edge, every sense aching for his response, like she could smell his yes or no over the scent of his cologne and the must and chemical odors of the lab, taste it with the dryness in her mouth, feel it in the throb of her knee on the cold concrete floor.

But the only emotion she could name on his face was fear. Why was he so unreadable? Why hadn't he answered?

 _Wow, for somebody who didn't get the gift of silence, you sure are being quiet,_ she almost said, to shatter the death grip of tension around them. If he didn't say something—anything—soon, she would throw up or break down or both all at once.  _Just say something, Henry. Yes, no, say it. Please._

"Yes."

For a second, she didn't understand, and could only blink at him, incredulous. Then, elation and relief rose up inside her, freeing the air from her lungs in a rush. "Yes?" she said, around a tentative smile.

"Yes," he repeated. "Yes, of course I'll marry you."

When she remembered how to breathe, she exhaled. "Oh, thank God."

She wanted to kiss him—no, _needed_ to kiss him, him and his beautiful face and his radiant smile. Needed to kiss him until neither of them could speak or breathe or think. She leaned in. So did he. Their foreheads slammed together with a painful thud.

Both of them burst into laughter.

"Ow!" she said, burying her face in the curve of Henry's shoulder.

"That went very well," he said, his tone dry, and he tilted up her chin, urging her to look at him. Up close, his eyes seemed to sparkle, warm with amusement, and she could almost taste the black tea lingering on his breath. "Shall we try doing that again?"

"Oh yeah," she said, and nodded vigorously. "Definitely."

This time, their lips met properly, and they shared a deep, tender kiss.


End file.
